Sylvie was beautiful, and her cooking was excellent too—truly worthy of a food streamer. Dining with a woman like this was a feast for the eyes.
We ate and chatted, eventually getting onto the topic of the serial killings.
"There isn't really such a thing as vampires, is there?" she asked again.
"Of course not." I shook my head firmly. "The test results showed that the saliva found in the victims' wounds was human. From this we can deduce that the killer wore some kind of fang-like dental appliance."
"Then why drain all the blood?" she asked, blinking her large eyes.
"It's very likely the killer suffers from some condition," I told her. "Porphyria—also called 'vampire disease.' People with this condition fear sunlight, so they can only be active at night. Over time, they develop psychological problems and may come to believe that drinking human blood can cure their disease."
"Vampire disease? There's such a thing? God, that's terrifying!" She clasped her hands over her chest. That fragile, vulnerable look was enough to make anyone feel protective. "Do you have any leads on the killer yet?"
At this, I deflated. Eight people were dead, and we still had very little to go on—we didn't even know the killer's gender...
I had to admit, this person was cunning. The crimes were always committed in very secluded times and places, making investigation and evidence collection extremely difficult. And the scenes were always clean, without leaving the slightest trace.
Of course, I couldn't say any of this.
"Don't worry, the killer won't get away forever." That was all I could offer.
She didn't press further. Instead, she started talking about herself, saying that living alone in such a big house sometimes felt lonely and frightening, especially with everything that had been happening lately.
Finally, she asked timidly, "Officer Mark, can I call you from time to time?"
"Of course, whenever you need me," I said readily.
"So we're friends now?" She brightened, jumping up. "Having a police friend makes me feel so much safer!"
Her brilliant smile was dazzling.
6
By the time I left, it was already late at night. I checked my watch and found it hard to believe. This woman seemed to have some kind of magic that made time slip away unnoticed.
When I got home, Molly was still waiting up. She'd saved my dinner and went to heat it up. I told her I'd already eaten.
Molly took my jacket to hang it up and seemed to catch a scent. She turned her head suspiciously. "Who were you with just now?"
I hesitated. "A female colleague. Discussing a case."
She'd probably smelled the perfume. Women were sensitive like that. Not wanting her to overthink it, I fabricated a lie.
At the same time, another wave of guilt crept in.
I had to admit, I was attracted to Sylvie. Her lovely face, her curvaceous figure—this woman was truly stunning, an absolute beauty...
Then I looked at my wife beside me, so ordinary by comparison. Her chest was too flat, her legs too thick, she had love handles around her waist... She simply couldn't compare.
Along with the disappointment came a warning bell. From now on, unless absolutely necessary, I should stay away from that woman! I couldn't do anything to betray my wife—not even emotionally!
7
After that, I deliberately avoided Sylvie. Every time she reached out, I made excuses to decline. I even transferred her case to a colleague. Perhaps she sensed something, because gradually she stopped calling.
I breathed a sigh of relief, though I also felt a sense of loss.
Honestly, what man doesn't like beautiful women? Thank goodness I'd pulled back before sliding into an abyss of no return...
What I never expected was that I would encounter her again—and in a very awkward way.
That weekend, Molly had a high school reunion. At her insistence, I took time off to go with her.
Every reunion featured the same old faces, but this time there was a new one—
"Sylvie, is that really you? My God, how did you get so beautiful?"
"Did you guys not know? Sylvie's a big influencer now!"
"A food streamer! She makes amazing dishes."
"A food streamer? And she still keeps that figure?"
"Exactly! How do you do it?"
"..."
I was stunned.
She was actually Molly's high school classmate!
8
Sylvie's appearance lit up the room. The male classmates clustered around her like satellites, competing to flatter and exchange contact info.
She slipped through the crowd and smiled at me: "Officer Mark, we meet again."
I could only nod back.
"How do you two know each other?" Molly frowned.
"She filed a police report," I quickly explained.
Molly's gaze shifted back and forth between Sylvie and me. Clearly, she was jealous.
More precisely, Sylvie's arrival had planted a thorn of jealousy in every woman's eyes.
After we got home, Molly told me some things.
She said that in high school, Sylvie had been dark-skinned, overweight, and buck-toothed—a genuine ugly duckling. All her classmates had shunned her.
She knew she was unwanted and always kept her head down, avoiding people. They'd given her a nickname: "Fat Rat."
To prove she wasn't lying, Molly dug out their old yearbook photo.
The girl in the photo had greasy bangs covering her face, clunky black-framed glasses—completely unrecognizable from the Sylvie I knew.
"See? That's what she looked like back then," Molly said dismissively. "She's definitely had plastic surgery! And those men, knowing full well she's got a fake face, still hover around her like flies. Don't they feel gross?"
With that, she shot me a resentful glare. "Speaking of which, was that 'female colleague' you were with really a colleague? I couldn't help noticing her perfume smelled an awful lot like yours that night."
"Ridiculous!" I didn't want to get into it and went to take a shower.
9
After the reunion, Molly started acting strange—leaving early and coming home late, not saying what she was up to, acting secretive.
She was a light sleeper, and my hours were irregular, so we'd always slept in separate rooms, worried my comings and goings would disturb her.
One day while she was out, I quietly went into her room. I wanted to see what she was up to.
The room was neat, with a faint unfamiliar fragrance. She'd never been one for self-care, always a bit careless about her appearance. But now, the desk was covered with bottles and jars—all sorts of cosmetics. The drawers held a stack of membership cards: gym, yoga, beauty treatments, everything under the sun...
What shocked me most were several receipts from a cosmetic surgery clinic! No wonder she'd seemed younger lately, looking better than before—she'd gone behind my back for minor procedures!
Undoubtedly, this was all because of Sylvie. Sylvie's appearance had made Molly feel the pressure, so she'd started obsessing over her looks, resorting to extreme measures to become beautiful...
She used to despise Sylvie.
And now she was turning into the very kind of person she used to look down on!
Looking at those receipts, I was both angry and heartbroken.
That night, I cooked all her favorite dishes and even lit candles for a romantic candlelit dinner.
I held her hands and told her earnestly: "I love the you from the beginning, and I love the you now. Even if your face were covered in wrinkles, even if your hair turned gray, you'd always be the one I love most... Promise me, don't put yourself through this anymore, okay?"
She nodded, in tears.
We had a romantic evening, just like when we were dating.
Right at the peak of intimacy, she suddenly stopped, pinching the extra flesh at her waist, and sighed: "Mark, do you think I should lose weight?"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
This woman was truly obsessed!
10
The ninth murder occurred, and the investigation was still making no progress.
One day while out on business, passing through an intersection, I spotted two familiar figures in a café by the street.
It was Molly and Sylvie. They were chatting and laughing, looking quite intimate.
I froze. How did they end up together?
Then, something even stranger happened. Sylvie took out a small red pill and handed it to Molly. Molly accepted it eagerly and swallowed it with water.
What was going on? Was she sick? But she should be going to a doctor for that, not to Sylvie!
I stared at these two women, completely mystified.
That evening, I asked Molly what was going on.